


In Paris

by ispun



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ispun/pseuds/ispun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>inspired by this<br/>http://www.youtube.com/watchfeature=player_embedded&v=EFzuDURWf9I</p><p>this one is going out to becky aka monocoquemadam.tumblr.com</p><p>disclaimer: none of this happened. <br/>rating: black flag</p><p>i always welcome constructive criticism, kind comments and gentle nagging to write more. if you find any errors, whether they are language-based, factual or formatting, please do let me know.</p></blockquote>





	In Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monocoquemadam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=monocoquemadam).



“Well, that was fucking boring,” says Jean-Eric to you when the pair of you are finally allowed to leave the event. you’re heading back to the same hotel, and Jean-Eric’s PR guy had told you that you might as well hop in a taxi along with Jean-Eric.

“We know you guys at Catherham haven’t got that much money, Charles!” the PR guy had said, slapping you on the back, and he was joking, but not really, so you had just pulled your lips up in an approximation of a smile and headed out to the front with Jean-Eric.

“You know, the higher up you get, the more of that kind of stuff you have to do,” Jean-Eric tells you now in the back of the taxi. “You wait and see.” You nod, but you can’t help thinking that, much as he professes to hate it, Jean-Eric is good at that kind of stuff. He smiles, he flirts, he’s charming, he’s professional. He’s everything a Formula 1 racer should be, while you just sit fiddling with your napkin, trying to think of something to say. It doesn’t help that you find Jean-Eric’s quick charm so distracting.

Anyway, you can’t even imagine what it’s like to be part of a team like Red Bull. OK, Jean-Eric might not drive for the senior team, not yet, but still. As they drive along, you watch Jean-Eric, who’s staring out the window, bored. It’s like you can’t help yourself, because no matter how much time you spend on getting his look just right, you never manages to look as poised as Jean-Eric does. Even with two days of stubble, his hair a disheveled mess, there’s something about Jean-Eric that drives you crazy. Maybe it’s his eyes, chocolate-brown and inviting, or the way his lips always look like they’ve spent the past hour being kissed and bitten.

“Just stop here,” Jean-Eric tells the driver now. You look at him. You’re nowhere near the hotel yet.

“I’m going to go and get something to drink, you want to come?” says Jean-Eric, handing the taxi driver a bunch of notes. 

\-----

You’re walking through the streets of Pigalle and it’s only the second time you’ve really been in Paris; apart from all the trips to the airport. And Jean-Eric seems to know where he’s going, of course he does, he grew up not so far from here. And you end up in a bar where Jean-Eric knows the owner and you sit sipping at your beers together.

“You know,” says Jean-Eric, “it would be so much easier if they just let me go home in-between these things. But for some reason, they insist I stay in town. It gets kind of boring, you know?”

You nod, because yeah, you’ve spent enough nights channel-hopping in your hotel room to know how boring all this travel can get. Sometimes you’ve thought about finding where some of the other drivers are, getting together for a meal or a drink, but...well, no-one else ever suggests it, so it would seem a bit odd if you did. Even though Jean-Eric and you are the same age, it’s not really the done thing for someone from a backmarker team like Catherham to hang out with someone like him. So he sits in hotel rooms in China and Australia and Hungary, and he flicks between channels, bored out of his mind.

“So,” says Jean-Eric. “You want to go out and find some girls?” and you look back at him, shocked, because, no, you don’t want to find any girls, but then, what can you say instead? That you’d rather just hang out with him, hear about how things are at Toro Rosso, hear more stories about what really goes on at Red Bull? That you’d rather watch the play of a smile on his lips when he finds something amusing, or feel the scratch of his stubble against your chin as he pushes you against a wall?

“Maybe I should head home?” you say, and it comes out as a question and you want to kick yourself for sounding so weak, so indecisive. You can make your own decisions, you don’t need Jean-Eric’s permission.

“Oh yeah?” Jean-Eric raises his eyebrows at you, dips his head to one side. Finishing his beer in one swallow, he turns to you.

“Let’s go, then.”

\---

In the hotel lift, you’re not sure who makes the first move, but you’re pretty sure it’s him. His mouth is on yours, wet and hot, his thigh pressing into your crotch. He has one hand in your hair and it hurts, but you’re not going to complain, and you’re pushing back against him, trying not to lose control completely.

In his room, he pushes you against the wall, and pins your arms above your head with one hand, kissing your neck. With his free hand, he pushes his jeans down around his ankles, freeing his cock and then you’re on your knees with him in your mouth. You turn your eyes up at him; he looks beautiful, his head thrown back, teeth biting at his bottom lip. His hand is in your hair again, and he’s pushing your head down onto his cock and you almost gag as he pushes against your throat. When he comes, he squeezes his eyes closed tight and you swallow and swallow until he is still.

He pulls his jeans back on with one hand and you stand up. He looks at you, a smile twisting his lips.

“That was nice. We should do it again sometime.”

He saunters over to the bed, leaving you to let yourself out.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this  
> http://www.youtube.com/watchfeature=player_embedded&v=EFzuDURWf9I
> 
> this one is going out to becky aka monocoquemadam.tumblr.com
> 
> disclaimer: none of this happened.   
> rating: black flag
> 
> i always welcome constructive criticism, kind comments and gentle nagging to write more. if you find any errors, whether they are language-based, factual or formatting, please do let me know.


End file.
